


Limbic System | (July 2015)

by Aleczandra



Series: a Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill story [3]
Category: Actor RPF, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice RPF, DCU RPF
Genre: Beta Wanted, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleczandra/pseuds/Aleczandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing Henry again at the San Diego Comic-Con Batman v Superman event is as easy as if filming had never ended. [...] [W]hen the organizing crew asks you for a picture of the two of you during the autograph session, you just do it again: lean backwards and rest your head on his shoulder, into his neck. You tell yourself you’re smiling for the camera, with your eyes closed, but you know it’s because you instantly feel it again: the feeling of calmness washing over you whenever you stay like this against him. How long has it been since you’ve felt this good?</p><p>A stand-alone fic that can also be considered part three of the "a Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill story" continuity.</p><p>Disclaimer: "I've all the demons of Hell in my mind. My only salvation is to vent them on paper!" - Le Marquis de Sade, <i>Quills</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Limbic System | (July 2015)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授翻】《Limbic System[July 2015]》](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238280) by [Echopai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echopai/pseuds/Echopai)



Seeing Henry again at the San Diego Comic-Con Batman v Superman event is as easy as if filming had never ended. You fall into that familiar camaraderie nearly instantly. You ask how his projects are going, congratulate him on his latest movie, and are happy to listen to his anecdotes. He asks you how you’ve been, and the concern in his eyes tells you exactly what he is referring to: the divorce. You answer him honestly, and thank him, because it is the consideration of those you value that helps you forget the things you like less.

The event happens in a blur: so many people, so many questions, and so little things you can say. But it is great, exhilarating even to feel all these people’s excitement and dwell back into those few months of shooting. So when the organizing crew asks you for a picture of the two of you during the autograph session, you just do it again: lean backwards and rest your head on his shoulder, into his neck. You tell yourself you’re smiling for the camera, with your eyes closed, but you know it’s because you instantly feel it again: the feeling of calmness washing over you whenever you stay like this against him. How long has it been since you’ve felt this good?

Interviews and promo events follow through the afternoon, and you all reconvene for supper much later in a nice restaurant’s private room - courtesy of the studios, and Zack and Deborah. You tease both Amy and Gal for having to go back to their rooms to shower, change, and show up in best dress, makeup and hairdo, while the guys just waited. Yet, you know it has more to do with seeing little girls into their beds, and maybe the truth is you miss your own princesses just then. You forget about it though, with the company of others, of friends.

You don’t touch your wine glass, but you feed off the happiness around the table, and maybe, just maybe, you spend too much time studying his face across from you. But you can’t help it, because somehow you wonder if you’re imagining things, or does his face just lit up when he talks to you, and his eyes shine when he turns to you, those ever-smiling lips bursting into a large smile when you say something funny? Surely you must be a little full of yourself to think that. After all, shouldn’t these reactions be for someone more worthy, someone like Jeremy who is sitting just a few chairs down from you, that legend of a man? You certainly had to slap yourself out of it the first few times you screen tested, and you’re not even Brit!

And yet, while perfectly polite with the legend, he still seems to turn to you the moment you produce a sound, or whenever you’re both silent.

You’re brushing your teeth in your hotel room much later that night and you’re still thinking about that – about him. You’re staring at yourself in the mirror but it’s another face, a younger face, you see. That’s when you curse, spit the paste out, and rinse your mouth in a heartbeat. You grab your black shirt before stepping out, and button it up as you take the stairway down one floor. You’re still wondering how you’ve made it to his door when he opens it.

You hadn't even noticed you knocked.

“Ben?”

Was he always this beautiful? He’s just wearing a shirt and track pants, but his skin is amazingly milky against the grey material.

He seems to understand you can't put two words together, like you’re still processing something – and that’s pretty much the case – and steps aside. “Why don't you come in?”

You do, but don't really come further in than the entryway, and you can feel him behind you as he closes the door.

“What is it, Ben?”

You mentally ask him not to say your name, because it does things you. You can imagine those thickly-lined, impossibly large, impossibly blue eyes on you, and you have a flash of that night you commented on them in post-coital bliss the only time something happened. It had only been a means to… tension-relief? Maybe a little more: the attraction couldn't be denied then. Yet, was repeating that night really what caused you to leave your room and find yourself in his?

“Ben–“

“Stop. Stop saying my name.” You sigh, pull at your hair with both hands and push the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Fuck.” You pause as you mentally try to count yourself to calmness, but it doesn’t really work. “I can't stop thinking of you.”

You turn around and press him back against the door. Or maybe it’s him who pulled you to him. You can't tell as your lips meet and he welcomes your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of alcohol, and it intoxicates you. His arms cling to you, and it makes you reach down to grope those cheeks and pull his hips against yours. You drink his moan as you grow hard and rub against one another. You remember all of him just then and wonder why it took you so long to repeat this? You slide your tongue against his and caress it until you draw more sounds from him, and remember just how maddening his moans are.

When you finally break for air, you press your forehead against his. You can hear him panting softly, or maybe it's just you? You look down, and find his impossibly blue eyes with the speckle of brown and the straight lashes shamelessly studying you. They lock onto you and that playful smile that causes the creases on his right cheek shines up at you. God, he’s maddeningly bright.

“Would have come to you a lot sooner if I’d realized you were this randy, Affleck.” You realize he’s joking. You wonder if that's a defence mechanism or if he really thinks all you want it sex.

“No, that’s not–” You cut there, because you realize you don’t know what it is you want to say, or how to say it. How can you say it’s not the sex (because, face it, that _was_ great); it’s him? It’s how he gets under your skin in a way that feels good, comfortable. It’s how you like to see him pleased, and be the one pleasing him. It’s the things you like about him, especially when you’re the one causing them. It’s even how you can’t find how to say this, you, the Oscar-winner writer.

His eyes are on you the whole time. He’s confused at first, searching for any clues, questioning you silently. You wish you could offer him an answer, so you open you mouth, and yet nothing comes out. That’s when the understanding happens, and almost immediately, his features change. He goes through the most captivating transformation, and that’s when you see it: the vulnerability. If you were any lesser of a man, you’d rip his clothes off. And maybe you _are_ a lesser man, because you come damn close to doing it, but then his lids fall closed, and the fragility in those orbs, that sent your hormones in a craze, shies away from you.

He gives the tiniest of nods, then moves from under you. He pulls you by your shirt and into the room. You slide off your sneakers as you follow him, and watch him take off his t-shirt. You have to lick your lips as your eyes lock onto that delicious chest. Last time, it had been Clark’s and Bruce’s bodies which had met in that Detroit room. Now, it is just Henry’s and Ben’s imperfect bodies, and heck if you don’t find him that much more desirable for it. You want to lick that chest and run your tongue into the groove between his pects, and heck if you ever felt that for another man!

He stops you when you’re about to push your pants down. He kisses you as he tells you to let him do it, and next thing you know, he’s on his knees. His hot breath warms your briefs as he helps you out of your pants, and you gasp when he looks up and his tongue outlines your cock through the black fabric. He outlines you down the side of one leg, and you twitch at the sight. Are you really just supposed to do nothing as those fingers reach up to pull your briefs off just enough to take you out, and those perfect lips part to eagerly take you, throat muscles trying to adjust to accept more of you? You do, at first, hips slightly pushed forward as his mouth sucks your head and his hand strokes your length, the other on your butt, squeezing in time with his moans. Yet, as you grow harder, it soon becomes too much and you grab onto the dark hair. It makes him groan, his throat opening more. Your hips answer with thrusts into his hot mouth. You don’t stop until discomfort makes him pull away, and he apologizes. You have to curse: seriously, ‘sorry’? His level of – what? Politeness? – does things to you.

You pull him up and make him climb onto the bed with you. His eyebrows knit in a questioning frown as you move to lie down on your side, and push your face between his thighs once you pull his briefs down. Your nose nozzles the hard flesh before pressing your lips against it, and the moan he produces is broken by surprise.

“Ben–?”

“I want to taste you too.” You just say it matter-of-factly, but the truth is that it’s crazy the things he makes you want to do to him. You haven’t felt this before, and when he moves to push his own face between your legs to run the flat of his tongue along the length of your cock while pressing it down against your stomach, you shiver and curse.

You love giving him head, love the taste of him and the way he leaks onto your tongue. You even move past his cock to suck his balls into your mouth, and are rewarded by a string of moans around your cock. Yet, it doesn’t compare to the sharp cry when you push the tip of your tongue into his ass. He writhes next to you and you swear you’ve never seen anything so mesmerizing. Because of the angle, you replace your tongue with a finger and return your mouth to his cock, and that drives him crazy. He moves to straddle your head and thrust into your mouth as your fingerpad rolls over a sensitive bundle of nerves. And you welcome it, this and the half breathed, half broken moans.

“Stop. Please stop or I’ll–“

You comply, but God knows you wouldn’t have minded his cum in your mouth right now. He falls between your legs, the underside of your cock against the stubble of his cheek as he catches much-needed air. You caress the curve of his round cheeks up his back as you turn aside to kiss one thick thigh.

“I want to be inside of you.”

You feel more than see him shake and nod against the sensitive skin of your lower stomach. You’re pretty sure you’re leaking pre-cum by now.

“I have lube but no condoms.” You hear the disappointment in his voice, but you refuse to let that stop you.

“I was tested not three weeks ago, and haven’t had sex since; I’m clean. I’m fine if you are.”

You see him push off of you and your eyes manage to lock together. His timid nod is all you need.

“I’m clean too.”

You bring him to you, and fucking thank God he is okay with this because otherwise you’d have run to the closest pharmacy, or ask the concierge for condoms – can one do that? Either option wouldn’t have sat all that well with the tabloids.

He’s lying on top of you as you kiss him deeply, and you clearly didn’t think this through because now you’re just rubbing against one another and heck if he isn’t doing an amazing job of it too. He breaks the kiss, and you watch him get the lube from a small travel bag on the night table. You run your hand on his ribs, lift off the mattress to take a nipple into your mouth and roll the flat of your tongue against it. He arches into your mouth, and sighs softly at the touch. It’d be easy for you to jerk him as you tease his nipple, and the thought alone makes your cock throb, because right now all you can think about is how helpless he’d be if you really did it. But you won’t get to find out, for that’s when he retrieves the tube and sits across your thighs. You expect him to hand the lube to you, but instead he squeezes some of its content onto his fingers. He resumes the kiss, and coats you while he humps your thigh. You reach up, and busy your fingers in his rich locks as your tongues fight and tangle.

When he breaks the kiss this time, it is to straddle your waist, and your cock, and lower himself onto it. His fingers dig into the muscle of your chest as your cock enters him, blunt nails biting into sensitive flesh. And it’s so fucking amazing inside of him! You get overwhelmed by the heat, the tightness, and how amazingly slick he is. When you’re almost completely sheathed, your hips push up by themselves, and he falls on your chest under the sudden stimulation. Your hands move to his thighs and not only do you run them over their strength and softness, you dig your fingernails into the back of them. You hear him gasp and feel him tighten around you. You enlace him to keep him in place, and press your feet flat on the bed for leverage to thrust up into him, and both of you love it. You seek his mouth, and find it, but the kiss is messy, broken by cry-like moans. You feel drool escape your lips and run down the side of your jaw, and maybe it’s his; overwhelmingly delicious boy whose hips roll to meet yours as you thrust up. He pushes himself off of you eventually, and you miss the contact, but soon all your consciousness rushes to the places where you’re connecting. He rolls his hip back and forth in sinuous curves and rides you. You reach up and squeeze the taunt muscle of his chest and pinch his nipples, the flush on his cheekbones darkening as he groans in pleasurable pain.

His chin is tightly pressed to his chest, his lips parted as he pants for air, and you just have to push off the bed to kiss them. You watch him in the kiss, feel like a voyeur but he is just too gorgeous with the crimson cheeks against his otherwise white skin. As much as you’d like to thrust inside of him and illicit more cries, you just can’t do much more than roll in this position, and decide you’ve had enough. You wrap your arm around his waist and proceed to change your positions while still being buried inside of him. He clings to you, his breath in your neck and his arms around your shoulders. He’s not a small man, but you still manage to lower him onto the bed. You hook one arm under his knee and he wraps the other leg around your waist. In this position, you hit that sweet spot at each thrust and that sends him into loud moans. You suck on his exposed neck, and get the urge to bite down on it, and do it even though you know better. You become high with the words that pour from his mouth, all those ‘Oh Ben’, ‘so deep’, ‘so good’, but you know you want more. You straighten and push his thighs down against his chest, his hips curling up and offering yet better access. You feel him swallowing you, pulling you inside again and again. In this new position, you can see all of him, and though you have to struggle to keep your eyes open, you watch him. You see the flush that covers all his torso now, his body – just like yours – glistening in perspiration, and his eyes, glazed and heavy lidded. He probably can’t even see you anymore.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” And you mean it. Because every fucking part of him is: from the dusky, hardened nipples or the damp chest hair that tracks across his chest and down to his treasure line, to the pink cock pressed tightly against his stomach. You feel his hands sneak to the back of your thighs where they curve to your butt, and pull you inside, demanding deeper, faster thrusts. You know he’s close: already his insides keep tightening around you, and his cock, engorged and leaking, twitches and throbs in sync with your thrusts. You grab it, because you want to see him come, and stroke him, spreading pre-cum and hearing the wet sounds your fapping makes. You love him indecent.

He lifts off the bed, back arching, and puts a hand on your arm because it’s too much, except he can’t really stop you. He’s got you physically trapped in the circle of his legs, but there is nowhere else you’d rather be. You rub his head as he seems to love, and watch him orgasm, body shaking and fingers digging in the sheets. You see his mouth open around a silent cry, and then in full volume as pearly liquid leaves him and stains his chest. When it’s only thick beads oozing out and outlining patterns down his length and onto your fingers, you let go. The thing is, his insides are doing things to you and you know you won’t go for much longer. You must shut your eyes then, regretfully losing the vision, but your body is all too aware of him. You taste blood in your mouth, those insides clamping on you, and when he palms your chest and pinches your nipples, you just come, grunts broken with cries and your seed painting his walls as you continue thrusting into the moistened flesh, riding your orgasm.

You need some time to return from the void that overtakes you, and you realize you’ve fallen atop of him. You’re both catching your breath and he’s enlacing you dearly. You kiss him again, and it’s slow and languid compared to the earlier desperation. You finally push off, but you’re just about to get up and disappear into the bathroom for a wet towel when something he says just makes it all rush back at you again.

“Let me get a towel,” his voice is husky and even raspy in the aftermath, “or I’ll stain the bed: your spunk is leaking out.”

That’s all you need, and you grab his wrist as he’s in the process of getting up, and yank him down, pressing him into the mattress. The need flares up inside of you, and you pull his hips up, part his cheeks, and push your face between them. He’s right, your sperm _is_ oozing out, so you lap at it, from the skin behind his balls to the twitching flesh.

“Ben, no!” What the fuck– No! I’m too–“

His voice breaks when you press your lips around his entrance, and try to suck it all out of him. He’s writhing under you, hips thrusting into the mattress, and more of you comes out as his stimulated insides push it out. You clean all of him and watch him go through a second orgasm, dry this time, as he fucks himself on your tongue and what you’re doing to him. When you finally sit up, you have to wipe saliva and cum off your chin. You try not to grin at the sight of him, as his exhausted eyes try to throw knives at you, but how can you not? He’s the best sight you could ever have.

“That was mean,” he accuses.

“Nonsense.” But you know what you’ve done: you knew he was too sensitive, and know the second orgasm probably hurt him. Apologetic, you warm a towel from the bathroom and slowly wipe his whole body: first the back, then the front. The soft mewls he makes are delicious, and when his hand finds your flaccid cock between your thighs, you let him lazily stroke you as you clean him. He’s not trying to get you hard again; it’s just appreciation.

You discard the towel and pull him under the covers and against you. You press your face into his neck and simply rest your lips against the warm skin. You hum in pleasure, “The next time we’ll meet will be the promo tour.”

He sighs, but there is no bitterness, and runs his fingers in the soft hair on the nape of your neck.

“I can’t wait.”

You smile and gently kiss his neck before pulling back. You look into the blue jewels and know that you hope there is no girlfriend or boyfriend at that time, because you want this special thing you have to continue.

He smiles, and rests into the pillows, his forehead against your shoulder. You watch the heavy lids cover those expressive eyes, and hear his breathing slow down. You give him a final squeeze before you allow yourself to follow him into sleep.

And you wish the next time you wake would be March 2016. 

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would explain the title: I was trying to find a title that would express that state of realization that Ben went through in regards to Henry's attraction and his own feelings, that moment when he realized that perhaps all these little looks, jokes, and touches actually meant more than just usual banter amongst two dudes who get along, and similarly, that his own endearment for Henry was more than simple enjoyment of another human being. I wasn't able to find a right word, until I was reading about the science of attraction and remembered the limbic system.
> 
> The limbic system is that part of our brain responsible for feelings and attraction, amongst other things, but specifically it is that organ responsible for seeing and, most importantly, processing what our eyes see, such as the body language, the small touches, the furtive looks, the warm smiles, etc., and the understanding/processing that eventually leads up to the development of attraction and chemistry.
> 
> Essentially, Ben's Limbic System finally kicked in, and maybe, just maybe, that's Ben's limbic system talking in this story ;)


End file.
